CLAY MATE
Mud,
Malleable, what will you be ?
My hands take-
Shape and wait
to see- their way.
Half feel, half think
Response- magic
Meet in me.
The soft grey shapeless mass grows, transforms,
Gives form, feeling, thoughts and heart.
Melded to physics' laws-
a further metamorphosis
a 'fixed' transition-
Fusion of nature and insight.
ODE TO A STRIPED VESSEL (Homage to Ode to a Grecian Urn-John Keats)
Bold liquorice strands,
Shafts of colour bright
Adorn your strident shape
Proud standing, say- 'look at me'.
Depths of ribbon ,lapped and overlaid
Some bars block, others ,soft lilac half shadows
lend distance- space where there is none
to reflect
Like bars of time to weave through,
Beams of light to breathe through
this mirage of vitrification.
SPILT
Spilt spirit etching a stain
Smooth polish loving,
Shine again.
SOME PEOPLE
'Talk to me ?' she asked.
'What about?' he responded.
'Anything' she saddened.
Some people will talk
Some people can't talk(about the things that matter).
What holds them tight inside ?
A constipated mind ? paralysed emotion ?
The strong silent type ? or mental corsets for macho hype ?
Frustrated expression ?
What creates the dam and dam-all communication ?
Walls of silence like a tight bubble- saying all or nothing.
Powerless silence
Powerful silence.
Burst in, break it, escape it,
Pop
Pep
Pep-talk, pet-talk,
Pet
Petal
Plate of words to nourish us.
REMEMBERING
My mother's love and courage to go on,
Suffer pain for me again.
Our last days together:
Mother to her helpless form, reversed caring
Sharing a different pain -
of vanishing time, moments stolen cruel from us,
no spring for her to see-
Just dark February days of unnatural strawberries,
Champagne on Mother's day
and forever,
delicate beauty of snowdrops
Will always bring you to me.